


Sherlock and Sherlock and John

by KimberlyAlexis



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Johnlock - Freeform, Look I don't know how to tag this other than, M/M, Post-Episode: The Abominable Bride, Season/Series 03, Unresolved, and I wrote it in the middle of the night, but also not?, but that's about it, compliant and even, just read it and let me know if it is as insane as I think it is, only half not, soooo, well it's
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-06-04 07:52:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6648769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KimberlyAlexis/pseuds/KimberlyAlexis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The title gives about as much away as I want to upfront. Slightly AU. Only slightly. If this mess is enjoyed by anyone let me know. More notes at the end of the fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sherlock and Sherlock and John

 

Sherlock was where? Wasn't he just there? John didn't know. There was a fog. It was cold. John was walking in Regents yet again. He walked past the same two ducks at least four times. The sky changed from blue to a dark purple and then somehow orange mixed with bright red.

Mary was there. Just for a minute. In the air the scent of freshly baked bread was quickly so quickly replaced by her perfume and then a smell which made John's stomach turn.

Mrs. Hudson was dressed in black. John was as well. And he felt heavy, so very heavy. He wanted to sleep, but he couldn't because a gun was being pointed at Sherlock and Mary was the one holding it. John just needed to find a way back. He needed to go back to days, months, years before.

He needed to say just the right thing to Sherlock and Sherlock would walk back from the ledge. John would run up the stairs, hug him and they would both take down Moriarty and things would be fine. It would stop that noise. That loud noise that was a steady , droning sound. God someone turn it off.

But it's bright. That's good isn't it? Exhaustion and worry is heavy on his shoulders. He is so tired but no, no, No! He can't get any sleep as long as Sherlock is standing with a gun in his face. Sherlock smiles and then it's fine. It's all fine.

Indecipherable words tumble out of John's mouth as he sits straight up in bed. He gasps for air. Breathing as much as his lungs can take. He tries to calm himself by focusing on anything but this feeling.

Ella had told him to close his eyes and focus on a clean white room where the world outside was still, calm, fine. But he couldn't close his eyes right now. No, right now he needed to look around the room and focus on things which meant here and now he was alive and things were okay.

In the corner of the room he sees Sherlock's dressing gown. Then he looks and sees Sherlock's dressing gown. Fine. Normal. Three sets of slippers sit next to each other. They're lined up by who left the shower last. John's ,of course, was first. Sherlock's was next and then Sherlock's of course was last.

John turns his head to the small table next to their bed. A bottle of nearly used lube is tipped over and a small pool has collected on the top. Spilling out and reaching past the small lamp to drip on the floor.

Absentmindedly John reaches over to pick it up and clicks the cap back on. He gets out of bed and starts to pick up. He tosses the three sets of pants into the small hamper in the corner. He picks up the wet towels and adds them on top. He then decides to arrange the bed so that the sheets which had slid off are actually on the bed properly.

It's a bit slow going at first as John's hand is a bit shaky, but he finally gets it. In doing so he finds his breathing has calmed and the panic attack has past. So he decides to head out of the room and get a glass of water. When he gets down to the kitchen he finds a note from Sherlock with two x's beneath it to let him know it's applicable times two.

John, a case. Should be finished before work. XX.

John smiles. Still impressed by the fact that Sherlock's genius will allow him to solve a case in a certain amount of time.

And he used to worry, but knowing Sherlock has backup makes things a bit easier now. So he heads back to their bedroom. He replays the dream in his head.

It was a nightmare, of course. But there was something in there, something he needed to remember. He didn't though so he let the dream slip away from him as the last of the stress it has caused slid away from him and then he was asleep.

Hours later he wakes to a warm body between his legs, a hot, moist tongue licking his cock like it's an ice lolly.

"Oh God. Sherlock. Sherlock," John says. He doesn't even open his eyes. He reaches blindly until his hand finds the curly head of hair and he winds his fingers into it. He holds the head in place and thrusts up. "Oh please?" He says. And then the tongue is flat and motionless. Which is the cue to John to fuck wildly into Sherlock's open mouth. It's not uncommon for Sherlock to let John do this as they all enjoy it, but it is rare for John to let go with such wild abandon. But he needs this now more than anything. He needs this all to be real.

When the lips touch his cheek he turns his face and then Sherlock is kissing him. And it's good. It's so good. He loves that he can't tell them apart when it comes to their kisses because he wants to believe it. He wants to believe it all. And he can right now. He can believe that Sherlock found a way to love John all the more. And in a way it's true.

Sherlock is between his legs and John's thrusts have fallen into a steady rhythm of up and down. A blissful humming is in his head and he realizes it's because he is humming. A song. He doesn't know the name of the time but he knows Sherlock has played it for him. It was one of the rare days where they hadn't fought over the violin and he was able to curl up with one Sherlock while the other played. The absolute best of both worlds.

Sherlock is expertly exploring his mouth and kissing him deep and passionate. He kisses like the first time still. Both of the first times. Like when it was all said and done and Mary was no longer in the picture and John had come to Baker.

Sherlock looked up and deduced that John wanted to move back in. He said John's room was ready for for him. He was right that John wanted to move back in, but he had missed that John had no plans to move into that room.

"Sherlock." John had said and Sherlock looked up at him with pleading eyes, seemingly almost willing John to not move, not talk anymore. And he saw. He saw what John was trying to show him--the look on John's face. Sherlock stood and took two steps towards John and then he was kissing him and kissing him and exclaiming that he would do his best, his very best to show John just how much he loved him.

"Shut up." John had said then. "I already know it's not nearly as much as I love you."

And they made love. He had thought they would just tear each other's clothes off once they had started, but then it turned slow, calm, beautiful. He came blissed out on the love they shared. Well that paired with the expert way Sherlock could touch him and make him need to come within mere moments.

And now John is being kissed and being sucked to perfection right now and he is so happy, so in love and it's so perfect. He moans Sherlock's name and asks him for--

"More. God Sherlock. Please more."

More is what Sherlock gave him months earlier.

It was confusing at first. Impossible really to come to an understanding. And he still doesn't know if they made the right decision. Seems a bit unfair to that John Watson in that world. Because he was that daft once.

Surely that John would come around as well. Doesn't he deserved to know, feel this?

But Sherlock was adamant that wasn't the case. The John Watson of his reality, dimension, alternate world? John still isn't sure of the correct terminology. Well that John Watson married Mary Morstan.

Yes, she turned out to be an assassin like in their world. Yes, she shot Sherlock. But where as in John's world he came to his senses one cold winter day, that John went back to Mary and stayed with her through every betrayal and lie. And he had no plans to ever leave Mary.

So one day that Sherlock stopped taking cases, stopped working on random experiments. He met with Stephen Hawking and others of a like mind. Sherlock expanded on their theories until he finally put together a prototype which would either kill him or send him to another world, a world in which he hoped John Watson just might love him back.

John's mind is hazy with the memory. Was it a Thursday or a Friday when the second Sherlock showed up? He doesn't remember. He just remembers the loud crash, the beeping noise, the tussle, the fight, the gun? Was there a gun? Mycroft's face of astonishment. Secret scientists. Many tests. Separate rooms in an underground bunker and then finally the second Sherlock asked to see him.

He explained to John, and only John, exactly why he was there, why he did it, and he asked John to tell him if it was all for nothing.

John had never seen Sherlock's eyes look so lost, not since that day on the tarmac. When it seemed they were having their conversation.

"No, of course you didn't, Sherlock." John said then he was kissing him and kissing him and telling him that he would love every version of Sherlock that he ever knew. Then the first Sherlock came into the room and said.

"Well I think two might be the limit for the flat." John turned away from kissing Sherlock to look at Sherlock. John's eyes set in worry and fear that he'd done something wrong, but Sherlock held up a hand. "Trust me, John, Sherlock. I understand."

John broke free of Sherlock's grasp then walked to Sherlock and kissed him. God he loved them. He loved them both.

There was a period of adjustment for all, of course. Mycroft had to create papers and a trail to explain the second Sherlock to others. Identical twin was the easiest explanation. The few scientists made aware of the situation were desperate to learn how Sherlock achieved inter-dimensional travel.

He told them, or course, but they'd never been able to replicate it.

"Maybe the power of love was the secret key to making it work." John said one day as they all sat down to breakfast.

Sherlock and Sherlock responded in unison. "Oh for God's sake." And they both simultaneously rolled their eyes.

John just beamed at them both and then gave a laugh and asked what they had planned today.

Once the papers were created and one officially because William Sherlock and the other Sherlock William they had discussed which would keep the name in house. In the end confusion seemed to be the best option. John nor Sherlock or Sherlock wanted to use the William name. So in house they were both Sherlock. When they visited crime scenes they traded off on who would be William and who would be Sherlock.

But at home it was simple. John was in a relationship with Sherlock and Sherlock. Mrs. Hudson could never tell them apart and she laughed when they tried to spin her the twin story. So they told her the truth and she burst into tears and hugged them all.

"I knew your love story was one of the special ones," she said. "I just didn't know how special my boys were."

But that was months and months ago. Everything settled itself mostly. Only the sole violin was an issue. John had finally come to a solution for that. He just had to put in about a months more rotation at the clinic and he could afford to buy the   
Stradivarius for Sherlock. It meant he'd lose his cuddle partner, but he was excited to see the looks on their faces, hear what they'll say.

Right now he hasn't opened his eyes to see their faces. Not since they both began their exploration of his cock and mouth respectively. He also hasn't heard their voice in hours, days? God he just needs to hear them and see them both. So he tries to open his eyes, but he can't quite find the strength. He can't, he can't. He needs them there. He needs this to be real. He mumbles and when it seems he isn't understood he mumbles again.

"Let this be real, Sherlock. Sherlock, let this be real."

But Sherlock doesn't respond. He can still feel Sherlock sucking him. And Sherlock is kissing down his neck, then chest. But they don't speak and he needs them to say something.

"Talk to me, Sherlock. Please say something. I need to hear your voice, Sherlock."

And still nothing. Then the exploration of his body stops. He finds he can't open his eyes still. And suddenly he's so tired. He aches for Sherlock. He aches. He needs him. He needs Sherlock. And Sherlock. He needs to wake. But he drifts asleep unsatisfied and alone.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so in case you didn't get it there are two Sherlock's. One from an AU in which John and Sherlock got it together in series three and one where he had to traverse worlds to find a John who would love him but it's also John's fever dream and sooooo 


End file.
